


Your Mine

by smokeopossum



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Annoying Banter, Aphrodisiacs, Cis Female Character, Drug-Assisted Erections, F/F, PIV, Semi-Public Sex, That Trope Where Someone Calls While Two People Are Boning, Trans Female Character, blowjob, handjob, mild violence, these hands are only capable of creating filth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 16:42:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18673528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokeopossum/pseuds/smokeopossum
Summary: “The new mines... Putain de merde, did she eventestthem?”Tracer gasped in understanding. “Your bloody mines are full ofViagra now?”“Iwas not responsible for it,” Widowmaker snapped.





	Your Mine

**Author's Note:**

> april fools, it's a month after april fools. haha got you guys good with this one haha totally owned haha
> 
> this was like, draft #637924 of a sex pollen idea, except i actually finished it. wow, i know right. first fic of the new year and it's in may lol
> 
> also hey remember that widow figma i ordered? [it came and i got to make her play with nendo tracer. they're cute. i'm gay. and kind of a loser](https://imgur.com/a/nBUVwYD)
> 
> anyway the only french in this is swearing, so. use your imagination if you don't understand it. have fun be safe i love you

Widowmaker's venom mines were curious things.

They could cling to nearly any surface with their microscopic hooks. They had a proximity sensor that was accurate to the millimeter, registering even the briefest motion in its range. And they were near silent aside from the brief hiss as they dispensed their aerosolized poison, a chemical cocktail designed to quickly target a victim's respiratory system.

It often wasn't more than an irritant, only grievously injuring those already under duress, but a well-placed mine could be effective enough to change the tide of a fight.

There was another aspect to them, however. Aside from its payload of chemicals, each mine also housed a small swarm of nanomachines. They rapidly decayed once exposed to the air, but they lasted long enough to serve their purpose - they interfaced with Widowmaker's visor, alerting her and allowing her to briefly track the victim. And once Widowmaker was _aware_ of a threat, it was often quickly neutralized. 

The venom mines were an essential part of her kit. 

Which is why learning _Moira_ of all people had tampered with them set her on edge.

She had promised it was an upgrade - experimental, yes, but more effective, more efficient. She had explained that it targeted a person's circulatory system instead, that it would result in unconsciousness, potentially even death. Her placid smile and assurances had not eased Widowmaker's doubts, but she took the modified mines on the mission regardless.

They had looked no different from the others. Widowmaker loaded them into her gauntlet and prepared to disembark as a strange worry brewed in the back of her mind. 

Her perch for this mission was an empty office building - a Talon shell company for something involving advertisements, if she recalled correctly - and her target was a minor politician of some sort. She didn't care for the specifics of his life: what mattered was that he was one of the loudest opponents to several bills in Talon's interests and that his _disappearance_ would be most appreciated. From her nest, Widowmaker would be able to see the restaurant he had reservations for, and specifically, the balcony which he was to be seated at.

All that needed to be done was to wait.

There was still an hour before the target was set to arrive at the restaurant, giving Widowmaker time to secure her position. The chances of being interrupted on something as simple as this were low, but not impossible, and Widowmaker simply didn't trust her luck. She placed her mines in a careful perimeter along both the roof and the floors below before setting up at her perch to wait.

Twenty minutes passed in silence. Then, a chirp from her visor caught her attention. One of the mines had been tripped.

Her visor slid down into place. A bright red figure was darting up the fire escape - no, _blinking._ Her lips curled into a smirk as the figure winked in and out of existence up the side of the building. Another mine waited hidden at the top of it, perfectly placed to go off right in her assailant’s face.

She waited, Widow's Kiss drawn and ready, and ignored the faint flutter of excitement in her chest.

Right on schedule, Tracer appeared at the top of the fire escape and the mine went off. The familiar purple cloud enveloped her, but the coughing she had been expecting didn't follow. There was no sluggish quality to her movements, no fainting, and certainly no death. Instead, Tracer barely seemed to notice, blinking right towards her with a grin. 

She was going to snap O'Deorain's _neck._

But first, she needed to get out of this alive. Widowmaker barely had time to react to Tracer's charge. She fired a spray of bullets in her direction for cover and retreated to an air vent.

“That the kind of welcome I get after so long, love?” a teasing voice called from across the roof. “Not even a hello?” 

The poison might not have been effective, but at least the nanomachines still functioned correctly - Widowmaker watched the bright red of Tracer's form slowly creep towards her. She raised her rifle, tracking her movement, and carefully inched into position.

Widowmaker took a quick step to the side and fired directly where Tracer's head was.

The bullet buried in the concrete of the building across the street.

“You're looking well, at least - Talon remembering to give you your sniper kibble twice a day, then?”

Widowmaker gritted her teeth at the sound of Tracer's voice below her. She glanced down from her scope with a grimace to find Tracer comfortably sprawled on her back at her feet, arms casually tucked behind her head.

Tracer winked. “Think your toys are broken, love. Not even a sniffle from those mines. New manufacturer? Should have a word with them, you should.”

Widowmaker responded with a stomp aimed at Tracer's head, unsurprised when her boot met nothing but air as she blinked away. A frustrated growl escaped from her as she spun around with a fist aimed for where she thought she'd find Tracer's solar plexus, satisfaction washing over her akin to nailing a perfect shot as she made contact.

Tracer doubled over with a grunt, momentum from the blink sending her to the ground.

“Alright, that's one to one,” she wheezed out before rolling aside with a yelp as Widowmaker fired down at her. A flash of blue and she was on her feet, pistols up and aimed right at Widowmaker.

They stared each other down, weapons drawn, the air fraught with tension. A bead of sweat rolled down Tracer's temple. Widowmaker noticed the slight tremor of her guns.

“Tired already?” she mocked, her own grip on Widow's Kiss steadfast. “We've only just begun, chérie. Surely you're not already spent.” 

“Dunno what you're talking about - I'm right as rain. Stamina for days!” Tracer insisted. Her grip on her pistols tightened, momentarily stopping the shaking. “Now, are we gonna dance? Or did you wanna drop the guns and the act and just start snogging each other senseless?”

Widowmaker burst into action with a snarl, a spray of bullets firing into the space where Tracer was barely a second ago, nothing but laughter left in her wake.

“Missed me!” she cheerily informed Widowmaker from across the roof. “Now you've _gotta_ kiss me, it's in the rules.”

“Do you flirt with everyone who tries to murder you, chérie, or am I special?” Widowmaker snapped as she took a shot she knew would miss. Right on schedule, Tracer appeared behind her, albeit much closer than she was expecting - her body pressed against her back, warm hands at her shoulders as she leaned in to whisper at Widowmaker's ear.

“Only the really sexy ones - so yeah, just you, love.” 

Widowmaker grabbed one of the hands and smoothly flipped her over her shoulder and onto the ground. The impact knocked the wind out of Tracer, leaving her briefly stunned, and Widowmaker smirked as she admired her handiwork. 

Then Tracer wrenched her ankle out from under her and sent her to the ground as well. 

“Two to two,” Tracer huffed with a laugh. Widowmaker blinked the stars from her vision and swallowed down an irritated groan. 

“This is not a _game,”_ she hissed. “I have a _mission_ to complete.”

“If you weren't just playing with me, wouldn't I be dead, then?” Tracer asked with a grin as she rolled over onto her stomach next to Widowmaker, still on the ground. “And if _I'm_ here, d’you really think that bloke will show? He's a numpty, yeah, but most people tend to listen when a talking gorilla tells them their life is in danger.” 

Widowmaker closed her eyes and took in a deep, calming breath. 

Her mines were apparently useless.

Her target was a no-show.

_Tracer_ was here.

There was a possibility that this was all just a terrible nightmare. Perhaps she was still at headquarters, and none of this had actually happened yet.

She opened her eyes.

Tracer was cheerfully smiling down at her.

“Sorry to ruin your fun, love. Well, not really. _Your_ version of fun ends in death. And that's only fun for _me_ if it's just a little one.” Tracer giggled at her own joke as Widowmaker's eye twitched.

She had to contact Talon and tell them her mission was compromised. There must be a leak in their chain of command somewhere. She could think of at least one purple nuisance that might be responsible, but it could have been someone else. There was too little gain to blackmailing this politician for Sombra to be involved.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Tracer, of course. 

“Uh. Not that getting to chat isn't lovely, but, something has just, er... come up. Afraid I'll have to duck out early. Fun seeing you, though!”

As she made to get up, Widowmaker reached out to grab her by the neck. Her body seemed to move on instinct. The idea of just letting Tracer _leave_ when she had so thoroughly ruined her mission was repellent to her core.

Her grip was like steel around Tracer's throat as she sat up. “No.”

Tracer pried at her fingers with no luck. Her face was flushed and sweat crept down her hairline, dripping down the sides of her goggles. Widowmaker narrowed her eyes as she examined her - it wasn't even mildly balmy and they had been lying on the roof for a while. Why was Tracer suddenly so sweaty? 

“Lemme go,” Tracer wheezed with a mild look of panic. 

“Why should I? If this mission is a failure as you claim, the least I could do is kill you.” She got to her knees and slammed Tracer down onto her back with a scowl. “You cannot ruin other missions if you are _dead,_ mm?”

There was a flash of blue and Tracer was sitting up again, sucking in greedy lungfuls of air and scrambling to her feet. “Not that that doesn't sound like loads of fun, but I've _really_ got to go.”

She scrambled to her feet and made to vault over the side of the roof and down the fire escape, but not quickly enough. Widowmaker shot her grapple line towards her, the cable instantly coiling around her ankles and yanking them both towards each other. They crashed together with a flurry of elbows and knees, Tracer attempting to kick out of the restrictive cable while Widowmaker tried to stop her. It only ended when Widowmaker finally pinned her arms above her head with a triumphant smirk.

There was something strange in Tracer's expression though. She was still flushed, her eyes wide with confusion. As she struggled beneath her, Widowmaker suddenly understood why.

“... Why are you _hard?”_

“I don't know!” Tracer blurted out. “This has never happened before, honest! I was fine, and then the next second, _sproing,_ ‘oi, hello, how's tricks?’ And now it _won't go away._ I'm not even that randy!” 

Widowmaker's brow furrowed. She... had no training for this specific scenario. And if Tracer was being honest, she wasn't prepared for this either. Does she still kill her? It hardly seemed fun like this. How did something like this even _happen?_

She sat frozen on top of Tracer's lap as her brain quickly put the pieces together. “The new mines... Putain de merde, did she even _test_ them?”

Tracer gasped in understanding. “Your bloody mines are full of _Viagra now?”_

_“I_ was not responsible for it,” Widowmaker snapped.  

“Can't believe I'm gonna kick it with my pecker at full mast,” Tracer groaned. “Rigor mortis’ll set in and my spectre'll have wood, too. I'll bloody haunt you and the loony what did this, swear I will.” 

Widowmaker grimaced. “Shut up. Just - shut up. I am not going to kill you like _this._ Even I am not so heartless.”

“Then what _are_ you gonna do? Can't imagine you'd just let me go when you've got me dead to rights like this. Or, what, are you gonna make me wank right in front of you real quick so we could get back to fighting?”

There was a tense moment of silence. Widowmaker didn't answer, but a flush crept onto her face at the imagery. Tracer's brows drew together for a moment before skyrocketing into her hairline, eyes wide.

“You're not _seriously_ considering that, are you?” 

“Would it _work?”_

“D'you want me to give it a shot?” Tracer fired back, smirk climbing onto her face.  

Despite Widowmaker's position on top of her, pinning her down, it felt as though the power dynamic had suddenly shifted between them. Her eyes flicked down between their bodies, dragging over the obvious bulge in Tracer's tights, and she felt a bolt of heat rush through her at the idea of watching her reach beneath them.

“... Yes,” Widowmaker quietly admitted. Her gaze snapped up to Tracer's face at her responding giggle. Tracer was grinning back at her.

“Hmm. Maybe I am feeling a bit more randy than usual,” she said, squirming underneath Widowmaker in a way that might have tried to be alluring. “Pull off a bit, yeah? And I'll go on and give myself a tug right in front of you.” 

Widowmaker sat back with a huff, still straddling Tracer's thighs. Part of her immediately regretted the decision as Tracer gave her a smug look and ran her newly freed hands down her front.

“Didn't think you were the naughty type. Talon know you're a pervert?” she teased as she struggled to pull down her tights. Widowmaker scoffed and crossed her arms.

“Shut up and be quick about it.”

“Ooh, yeah, tell me what to do, love,” Tracer cheekily replied, eyebrows bouncing.

“I could still kill you right now.”

To her surprise, Tracer wore underwear. They were simple teal boyshorts, clearly meant for comfort and stealth beneath her tights. If Widowmaker was feeling charitable, she might have said they were cute.

“Do you wear _anything_ that does not clash horribly?” she said instead.

“Oi, they match the _bra,”_ Tracer insisted with a pout. She started to squeeze herself through them, dragging her fist along her shaft. Widowmaker feigned boredom even as she watched intently.

“I do not have all night. I am required to check in at the hour.”

Tracer rolled her eyes. “It's a bit tricky to get in the mood with you tapping your watch, love. It's not a Christmas cracker.” 

“It looks roughly the same,” Widowmaker said with a smirk.

“It does _not!”_ Tracer squawked, turning an interesting shade of pink. “You're welcome to give it a bloody tug yourself if you think you're so much better at it.”

“Perhaps I will,” flew out of her mouth. There was a moment of silence while they glared at each other. Then Widowmaker reached for the hem of Tracer's underwear and yanked it down herself.

‘Sproing’ had been an apt sound effect earlier, while ‘Christmas cracker’ was indeed a poor descriptor. Tracer's length slapped against her stomach when Widowmaker freed it, flushed and pulsing in the night air. It had seemed smaller when it was still tucked away in her undershorts.

“Well?” Tracer asked after another moment passed of Widowmaker just staring at her. She glanced up at her face to find her looking vaguely embarrassed. 

Widowmaker sighed, feeling a strange heat creep over her face. “Fine. It does not resemble a Christmas cracker.”

“I was more waiting for you to start giving me a wank, but thanks, I guess.”

Tracer flashed her a shit-eating grin, the embarrassment now gone, as Widowmaker let out a frustrated growl. She glared at her, but brought her hand to her mouth to lick up her palm regardless, then reached down to touch her.

Her fingers rubbed over Tracer's tip, teasing through the stream of precum escaping from her, before she closed her fist around her and began to stroke. Tracer grunted, head falling back against the roof, and bucked into her hand. 

“Easy, easy, it's not a stress ball,” she wheezed. “Let me - lemme show you.”

Her hand closed over Widowmaker's, warm and gentle, and squeezed as she showed her how she liked it. Together they stroked her, Tracer thumbing at her tip on every pass, and as she got closer to her peak, she started to pant and softly whine.

“This, this is honestly really doing it for me,” Tracer breathlessly admitted. “Couldn't convince you to make this a habit, could I?”  

_“Tais toi,”_ Widowmaker replied, despite being more than interested in the idea. It might have been secretly starting to do it for her as well.

The logistics would need to be worked out if they wanted to try something like this again on the job, but they _could_ always fool around outside of work. That almost made it sound like a relationship of some kind though, and she immediately dismissed the thought.

This was a fluke. She would finish with this, and Tracer would go back to normal, and then she could kill her.

“Hey, d'you have a, ah, a tissue or something? I'd rather not mess on the hardware,” Tracer interrupted with a tap to her accelerator.

“Do I look like I have tissues?” she replied, deadpan. “Here. You can deal with this.”

She tugged Tracer's shirt up, covering the bottom half of her accelerator with it. 

“I just washed this shirt,” Tracer whined. A firmer squeeze to her head had her gasping. “Fine, fine, it'll work. _Haah,_ little faster? I'm almost--”

Her head snapped back against the roof with a moan as Widowmaker sped her strokes, focusing on her tip.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” she panted, “just like that, don't stop, ah, _aah!”_

Her hips shuddered, warmth erupting from her tip and splattering over her stomach in pulses. Widowmaker slowed as the last of it spilled from her, dribbling over her fingers, and when Tracer relaxed, heaving for air, finally pulled away.

She looked at the mess on her hand curiously. It was runny, and slippery, and mostly translucent. She rubbed it between her fingers, fascinated.

A glance to Tracer showed her still busy catching her breath, eyes closed. 

It was still warm as she brought her fingers to her lips. The taste was odd, salty and bitter and something else, something... earthy, perhaps? It was interesting, and while she wouldn't classify it as _good_ in any sense, something deep inside of her purred in satisfaction. She sucked her fingers clean and glanced back at Tracer.

Tracer, who was now watching her with wide eyes. 

_“What?”_ she snapped, that same warmth prickling at her cheeks.

“Nothing, nothing,” Tracer replied, bringing her hands up defensively. There was a pause before they both simultaneously looked back between her legs.

“... Is it not supposed to go down afterwards?” Widowmaker asked. Her brows furrowed - Tracer was definitely just as hard as before, if not an even angrier looking red.

“Well, not to brag or anything, but even when I've _not_ been dosed with evil Cialis I'm usually good for a couple rounds.”

Widowmaker blinked, looking between Tracer's stubborn erection and her sheepish grin. A terrible idea formed. “... Maybe I should try using my mouth.”

Tracer's eyes nearly bulged out of her head. “Wha-- yeah, ah, maybe that’d work. Should definitely give it a try. Yes.”

She ignored Tracer's eager nodding and reached back down to grab her by the base. She could feel her pulse thud, watched her length tremor with it, and licked her lips.

“D'you need any pointers, or--” Tracer began, choking when Widowmaker simply leaned in and gently closed her mouth over her. The same taste from earlier met her tongue as she swiped it over Tracer's slit - musky and earthy and salty all at once - and she let out a low moan.

“Okay, no pointers, you're good, alright,” Tracer wheezed. Widowmaker smirked around her, glancing up to lock eyes with Tracer, and started to suck. A satisfying whimper tore from Tracer's throat in response. Her hips twitched as she swallowed around her, clearly keeping herself in check as Widowmaker began to take more of her into her mouth.

“Can I, ah,” Tracer breathed, raising a hand and hovering it near the back of her head.

Warmth squirmed between Widowmaker's thighs at the thought. “Mhm.”

It gently touched down, a surprisingly tender presence, and Tracer groaned as she slurped back up her length. 

Her lips were tight around her shaft, tongue swirling against the hot flesh. It was almost _fun_ to play with Tracer like this, seeing her reactions and hearing the weak, needy noises spilling from her throat. Her job had faded to a distant worry - she was too busy enjoying herself.

Widowmaker sank down to her base and sucked all the way back up to her tip, pulling off with a wet noise to take a deep breath. She flicked her tongue out to tease over Tracer's head, making her whimper and squirm beneath her, then closed her mouth over her once more. 

She focused on Tracer's tip the most, since it brought the best reactions. The hand at the back of her head only encouraged it. When her tongue roughly washed over a spot along the underside, nails dug into her scalp, a weak whimper escaping from Tracer. Her lip rubbed over it again and again, making her shudder and squeak.

“Right there, please,” Tracer panted. “Just keep, keep doing that, _please.”_  

Widowmaker hummed an acknowledgment and obliged. Her tongue swiped and flicked over her as she did it, tearing breathless moans from Tracer. Her hips shook, the hand at the back of Widowmaker's head tightening its grip.

“Don't stop, please,” she breathed out. “I'm so close, your mouth feels so bloody good. Just, just a little more-- _aah!”_

Tracer arched, hand suddenly squeezing around Widowmaker's ponytail in an accidental tug and sending sharp needles of arousal through her. Widowmaker couldn't stop the moan escaping from her throat in response, her eyes fluttering shut. 

She sucked hard as Tracer released into her mouth, moving with the rough thrusts of her hips. Heat twisted and curled beneath her navel at the feeling of Tracer twitching and spurting against her tongue. 

This was _arousing._ She _liked_ this.

Widowmaker swallowed down her release, groaning quietly as the warmth trickled down her throat. Tracer shuddered, and gasped, and finally went boneless beneath her, once again panting to catch her breath.

She pulled away and licked her lips, fully expecting to see Tracer beginning to soften. 

Her length pulsed angrily, flushed scarlet and harder than ever.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered. “What did that woman _do?”_

“Huh?” Tracer huffed, still dazed.

“Nothing. You're still stiff, somehow. Perhaps I should try something else.” 

Tracer licked her lips and struggled to get to her elbows. “What, ah, what d'you have in mind?”

Widowmaker ignored the question and set about releasing the catches of her uniform. She shrugged out of the top and pulled down the hidden zipper, then peeled the suit down to her knees. When she finally finished, she looked back up to find Tracer gawking.

“That's, really, the whole thing, then? The - all of it?” she stuttered. Her eyes roved non-stop over Widowmaker's suddenly bare front.

“One of the many downsides of a catsuit,” she drolly replied. “Let's see if this works, shall we?”

She lowered herself over Tracer, but between the accelerator between their chests and her catsuit limiting just how far she could spread, the best she could do was rub herself over her shaft. It still felt nice, but it wasn't exactly what she had been hoping for.

“We’ll need a different position,” she muttered. “All fours, perhaps?”

“You're really wet,” Tracer whispered in disbelief. “Like, actually properly wet over this.”

Widowmaker rolled her eyes and got to her knees again. “You'll have to try taking me from behind. Is that a problem?”

“It is absolutely _not_ a problem,” Tracer replied, suddenly snapping to attention. “Can I - should I finger you first? Doesn't feel right just, you know, sticking it in.”

“Fine,” Widowmaker sighed as she shuffled in place and turned. “Try to be quick, though. This has already taken much longer than I had expected.”

“Well sorry _your mines_ caused an involuntary physical reaction in me,” she snarked back.

Tracer's hands were warm as they settled at her hips. She had tugged off her gloves while Widowmaker had gotten into position, and the now bare skin meeting her own chilly body sent a quick zap of excitement through her. 

“So I'm just, gonna,” Tracer mumbled seconds before soft fingers gingerly touched her between the legs. They gently rubbed over her folds, smearing themselves with wetness, then rolled over Widowmaker's clit. She gasped at the sensation, stiffening, and Tracer froze what she was doing.

“Sorry, is this alright? I, uh, just,” Tracer stuttered. Widowmaker looked over her shoulder to find her nervously biting her lip.

“No, it's fine. I was just, not expecting that. It felt... nice.” 

“Oh... okay.”

Tracer hesitantly resumed touching her, fingers slipping over her clit again and again before teasing between her lips. One started to slide into her, careful and slow, and Widowmaker sucked in a quiet breath.

It had been a while since she had last been touched by anybody else. She didn't recall it being so... satisfying, just having fingers play with her. Tracer sank in to the knuckle before pulling away and entering her with two, easily slipping into her.

“I, er. Guess you don't need too much prep,” Tracer joked. She started to move faster, harder, stretching her as she pumped in and out of her. “Not that, I mean, I didn't, I wasn't saying, you're not--” 

“Shut _up,”_ Widowmaker groaned as she backed into her hand for more. “This is good. Don't ruin it.”

“Right, sorry,” Tracer said with a weak chuckle. A third finger carefully pressed in alongside the others and together they curved and curled, rubbing at her walls in a way that made her shudder. Widowmaker quietly moaned and raised her hips to meet her.

“I think that - this should be fine,” she managed out. “Hurry up.” 

“Ah, okay, yeah,” Tracer mumbled. Her fingers pulled free, to her mild disappointment, but then something hot and damp was dragging over her entrance. Arousal zinged through her at the realization that Tracer was about to penetrate her.

“Are you sure about this? I've not got on any protection, and yeah, the chances are _astronomically_ low on my end alone, but--”

“Tracer.”

Her voice was rough and low, impatience shining through, but a sliver of need was unmistakable. She felt Tracer twitch against her and heard the faint sound of a harsh swallow.

“Alright, alright. Well. Here we go, then.”

Her head nuzzled at her entrance, and with only the slightest bit of resistance, she was sliding into her. Widowmaker couldn't help but squeeze down around the sudden intrusion, hot and throbbing against her insides, and let out a broken moan as it pressed even deeper.

“That's it,” Tracer whispered. “Cor, you're well tight. Relax, love, it's just me.”

A steadying hand rested at the small of her back and gave her a reassuring pet. Tracer's hips started to rock, barely thrusting to let her grow familiar with the sensation, the both of them softly moaning as she dragged against her walls.

“Is this - are you alright?” she asked, already somewhat breathless.

_“Yes,”_ Widowmaker moaned back. “You can, _aah,_ go harder.”

Tracer seemed to take the instruction to heart. The thrusts steadily increased in force and speed until she was rocking forward with every slap of her hips, moans escaping from both of them. Tracer's hands were tight at her hips now, pulling her back to meet her thrusts. When Widowmaker closed her eyes, she could swear she saw stars.

“You feel so _good,”_ Tracer breathed. “Lot hotter than I was expecting, honestly. No offense, you're just, well, you're blue and all. _Shit._ I could _really_ get used to distracting you like this.”

Widowmaker, for her part, was having trouble forming words. She felt so full and _hot,_ clamping down around Tracer's length in a desperate attempt to keep her inside. All she could do was moan and whine.

“Can, can I do something I might've, _haah,_ fantasized about? It's, it's nothing weird, well, not too weird I don't think.”

“F-fine,” Widowmaker managed. Tracer could have asked her to join Overwatch at this point and she might have had trouble saying no. 

All at once, Tracer was lowering over her back, her thrusts growing quick and shallow. A hand grabbed at her ponytail and swept it aside. Lips and tongue met her spine, the wet heat dragging right up between her shoulders blades - it was exactly where she knew the tattoo on her back was.  

Tracer kissed her way to Widowmaker's shoulder, where teeth gently sank into the muscle. She felt her moan, hips jerking out of rhythm, and an arm wrapped around her front. Widowmaker was suddenly grateful for her physical training - Tracer's weight was almost entirely on her now, and despite her size, she wasn't exactly light. The accelerator thrumming against her certainly didn't help.

It was only when Tracer's hands began to fondle her that her arms began to tremor. The needy groping at her chest was fine on its own, but then the hand at her hip slid down to start rubbing at her clit as well. Widowmaker gasped, jerking at the touch, and felt Tracer smile against her skin.

“Wanna, _aah,_ make you feel good too,” Tracer panted with a pinch to her clit. Widowmaker cried out, clenching harshly around Tracer's length as it continued to thrust into her, and struggled to form words.

“Puh - _nnh -_ pull my hair,” she gasped, “like you did earlier.”

Tracer muffled a moan against her skin. She brought the hand that had been fondling her chest up and closed her fist around the base of her ponytail before giving a sharp tug. Electricity seemed to shoot through Widowmaker's body in response.

_“Yes!”_ she groaned. Tracer repeated the action and she spasmed with a whine. Something hot coiled inside of her, ratcheting tighter and tighter with every thrust, every tug, every pinch. It expanded until her chest was tight, her arms shaking, and then suddenly snapped. 

Colors burst beneath her eyelids while her body seized. Her throat buzzed with effort, but she could barely hear the hoarse cries she let out. Sensation smashed into her, hot and hard, and sent her to the roof with weak limbs. Everything was heat and throbbing and _good._

It took a moment to realize Tracer had paused.

“Why - why did you _stop?”_ she whined.

“You, you sort of face-planted there, love,” Tracer panted in response. “Are you alright? Should we stop?”

“You are so _stupid_ sometimes,” Widowmaker breathed with a laugh. She continued before Tracer could do something ridiculous, like leave. “We just need to, _hah,_ change positions - my arms cannot hold us both up any longer.”

Tracer pulled out of her and Widowmaker immediately slumped onto her side, then rolled onto her back. She spread her legs as far as they could go with her suit tangled at the tops of her boots. “Can you work with this?”

“Yeah, yeah, let me just...” Tracer said as she maneuvered between her legs, kneeling into the space she made with wide eyes. “You're, ah... you're real pretty, by the way.”

Widowmaker dragged her gaze over Tracer’s front and licked her lips. “Merci.”

Her length wetly slapped against Widowmaker's mound while she settled between her legs. For the first time that night, Widowmaker was grateful Tracer was still as hard as she was - the feelings of a few minutes earlier were still fresh in her mind and she wanted more.

Tracer took herself in one hand and ran her head over Widowmaker's entrance again. She glanced up at her face with a flush. “Right, back at it, then?”

“If you would.”

She easily pressed back in and the both of them moaned as she filled her once more. Tracer grabbed at her hips and resumed her thrusts, honey brown eyes fluttering as she sank into her.

It felt different being able to see Tracer like this. She could see the warm blush beneath her freckles, the way she bit her lip as her hips picked up speed, her eyes darting all over her body as if she couldn't figure out what she wanted to look at most. She was pretty, and sweet, and every slam of her hips against her had Widowmaker questioning why they didn't just do this all the time instead of fighting.

_“Merde,”_ she whispered, mostly to herself. Tracer really was fucking her brains out.

Her hands gradually began to wander Widowmaker's body again. One dragged along her mound with a moan, spreading her flushed lips and thumbing at her clit. The other petted up her stomach and groped at her breasts, kneading and tweaking her nipples. Zaps of pleasure rocketed through Widowmaker from both, and she clamped down hard around her with a moan.

“You like that?” Tracer panted. She was grinning down at her, eyes lit up in excitement. “You're loads noisier than I thought you'd be. S’nice. Let's me know I'm doing it right.”

Widowmaker felt her own face heat up at that. Joined together like this, she knew Tracer could see it. She decided to cover her face with her arm and whimpered at a harder pinch to her nipple.

“Don't hide, love. It's cute. _You're_ cute. Wish I could've seen your face when you were cumming earlier, but suppose that just means I've gotta get you again.” Her hips snapped roughly against her, grinding against her insides, and her fingers swirled over her clit.

“You're the _worst,”_ Widowmaker gasped, arching in response. Tracer only giggled. The sound brought a faint smile to her lips, but the crackling of her communicator in her ear immediately wiped it from her face. 

Her eyes slammed open with alarm as a familiar impatient voice growled in her ear.

_“Widowmaker, report. It's quarter past the hour.”_

Tracer's mouth opened as if to say something else and Widowmaker's hand immediately shot up to clap over her mouth. The other went to her communicator to respond, flicking the switch.

“There were, ah, complications. The target had been intercepted by Overwatch and did not show.”

Tracer's eyes widened in understanding, but her hips didn't stop moving. Widowmaker resolved to actually kill her again.

_“Acknowledged. A retrieval unit will be--”_

“No! I'm, ah, being pursued. I will report with my coordinates, _haah,_ when I lose her.” Her eyes shut in mortification - despite her best efforts, Tracer was rubbing her clit perfectly, and a quiet noise had managed to slip out. 

There was silence on the line for a beat.

_“What's your status? You sound wounded.”_

Widowmaker's eyes snapped open to glare at Tracer, who she could feel grinning down at her behind the hand covering her mouth. 

“The little pute _shot me,”_ she spat out. Tracer started to shake with silent laughter. “Tell O'Deorain those new mines are _foutaise inutile_ , and if she touches them again, I will shoot _her.”_

There was a dark chuckle. _“I'll pass it along. Report back with your coordinates ASAP. Reaper out.”_

Widowmaker hurriedly flicked off her communicator and immediately let out a moan. Sensing the conversation was finished, Tracer burst into giggles. 

“I'm really going to kill you,” Widowmaker groaned out. “That was _not_ funny.”

“It was a bit funny,” Tracer breathlessly teased. Her thumb slickly rolled over her clit again and again as the thrusts of her hips started to grow wild and fast. “I'm, I'm gonna cum though. Is it alright if I, _aah,_ if I do it inside?”

_“Yes,”_ Widowmaker hissed. “Cum inside, _yes,_ just don't stop rubbing, _merde!”_

A full body shudder ran through Tracer at the plea. Widowmaker could feel her pulse and tremor, and then rushes of heat were spurting into her.

She gasped and arched, eyes screwing tightly shut, and jerked against Tracer. The quick, heavy rubs against her clit had her following her over the edge, satisfaction blooming in her chest, and she felt herself moaning loud and long as her body shook. Her chest felt tight and hot, her breaths coming ragged, as sharp bolts of pleasure hit her squarely between the legs.

Her head swam as the last of Tracer's release shot into her. The hands on her body finally stilled as they both panted. Widowmaker felt warm, inside and out, and she savored the strangely pleasant feeling.

“Think, think I'm finally going soft,” Tracer eventually gasped out. She was breathing much harder than Widowmaker, and when she opened her eyes, she realized Tracer had practically fallen over her, head on her chest. 

“Good. This would be difficult to explain to that pretty doctor of yours, no?”

Tracer snorted a laugh. “She's seen worse. Urgh. Feels like I just ran a bloody marathon though.”

“Well get up, you still need to shoot me.” Widowmaker frowned as she said it. She was _not_ looking forward to it, especially when she was feeling so nice otherwise.

“Can't believe it, first time I actually nick you with a shot and it's staged because we were shagging during a check-in.” She giggled as she got to her knees once more and flashed Widowmaker a tired grin. “I'll aim somewhere it won't hurt too much. How's the calf sound?”

_“That's_ your idea of an optimal placement? Ugh. At least it will be believable then.” 

She winced as Tracer gingerly pulled out of her, indeed already going soft, and felt the tickle of warmth as her release escaped her overworked slit. 

“I'd offer to clean you up, but we're a bit tight for time, yeah?” She licked her lips. “Maybe at our next tête-à-tête?”

Tracer's eyebrows bounced lasciviously as the French rolled off her tongue, but Widowmaker heard the hopeful chord beneath the banter.

“Hmph. We’ll see. Get up so I can pull my suit back on.”

“Careful, love, you keep telling me what to do and I might get a fetish for it,” Tracer teased while she shuffled out of the way and started to pull up her own clothes. 

“That would imply you don't already,” Widowmaker flirted back. She sat up, her back aching, and started the process of tugging her suit back on. 

“You've got me there,” Tracer cheerfully replied. She finally got to her feet and dusted herself off, then reached down to give Widowmaker a helping hand up. Her other hand made a sharp motion and released the pistol from her bracer, expertly twirling it around her fingers.

“Alright, so. I'll aim and then fire on three, yeah?”

Widowmaker grimaced and adjusted her ponytail. “Fine. When you're ready.”

“D’you have a preference for leg?”

“Just pick one.”

“Hmm, alright.” Tracer took careful aim with her gun. “One, two--”

She fired before three and sudden searing pain tore through Widowmaker's right calf.

_“Aïe!_ Espèce de _putaine!”_

“Sorry!”

**Author's Note:**

> bunny:  
> god  
> I was making a joke earlier I can't believe widowmaker is actually in striking distance of a heel face turn on the juncture of "dick too bomb"
> 
> possum:  
> widowmaker, barely able to think and being quizzed by someone who would PROBABLY kill her if they knew what she was actually doing: i, uh, she shot me. yes. this is a reasonable thing that has happened to me, widowmaker. please don't come here.  
> bunny:  
> [garnet voice] I am bleeding, oh no, I am dead. Don't call again.  
> possum:  
> GOD BASICALLY
> 
> reminder u can find out more about my writing [here](https://smokeopossum.tumblr.com/)


End file.
